Getting to Know Her
by Dylan S. Thompson
Summary: Santana begins to realize just how much she'd always missed.


**Getting to Know Her**

When she saw Artie wheeling down the hallway at the end of the day with a helmet delicately balanced on his lap Santana literally couldn't help herself. She sidled alongside the boy and chirped, "So they finally decided to give you special head-gear too?"

Santana snorted at her own joke. It didn't matter that Artie's grades far outstripped hers or those of anyone she knew; calling someone retarded was always funny. With her insult spent, there was no need to remain near Artie. She was about to bail when he responded to her barb.

"Um…no, it's for Brittany."

Okay, so there was one time when calling someone retarded wasn't funny. Santana whirled around and smacked Artie across the back of his head, "Asshole!"

"Ow! What?" Artie reached back to rub the suddenly delicate spot that Santana had just hit.

"Don't talk about Brittany like that!"

"Like what?"

"Don't call her retarded! What kind of boyfriend are you?"

Artie just stared at her, open-mouthed for a few moments. Shock was written all over his face, but was soon replaced by anger. "What are you…I would never do that! I'm not like you, Santana. I don't go around looking for people's weaknesses, insulting them for no reason." He took a deep breath, held up the helmet and said, "I got this to replace her old one, for motocross."

"Oh…" Santana didn't feel guilty for laying into Artie, just glad that he wasn't insulting her girl. "Wait…what? What the hell is motocross?"

(-)

They arrived at the motocross track half an hour later. Artie was still glancing at Santana nervously, as he had been since she _insisted_ that she would give him a ride to where Brittany was located. After turning off her car, Santana sat in stunned silence and watched the actions of the riders on the track.

She vaguely recognized this as something she had seen on television a couple of times, but always flipped away from. She had never been interested, and never would have guessed that any self-respecting girl, let alone her best friend, would feel any differently.

Questions raced through her mind as she watched the flamboyant jumps, the tight curves, and the neck-to-neck racing. Why was Brittany doing this? When had she started? Why didn't Santana know about it? Why did Artie? But the most insistent question of all, she had to admit, was: How on earth did Brittany have the time? Nearly all of Santana's free time (and much of the time which was meant for school and family) went to practicing for Cheerios, even when not at an actual practice. For every horrible, grueling hour of practice under Sue, Santana needed three or four equally intense hours of personal practice. That was the only way she could keep up with Sue's ridiculous expectations and stay at the top of the cheerleading hierarchy. Adding Glee Club had nearly killed her. There was literally no time for anything else.

"Um," said Artie hesitantly, dispelling Santana's contemplative mood, "can we hurry this up? I honestly only planned on dropping this off. I have to be home for dinner, and then I have homework."

"Fine," Santana bit out. She unbuckled her seatbelt and threw open the driver's side door. She was stepping out when Artie's voice stopped her.

"You have to help me out, remember?"

"Fine!" She slammed her door as hard as she could.

(-)

Once she had retrieved Artie's chair and put the boy in it, she slowly wheeled him closer to the track. As they made moved closer, Artie tried to be helpful and point out which rider was Brittany. Santana didn't need his help, however. Even when covered head to toe in clothes and boots and a helmet, and even when all that was covered in dirt and mud and grass, Santana could still recognize the lithe, graceful form of her best friend.

Santana and Artie were silent and still for a few minutes, watching the riders race past, waiting for Brittany to notice them. Brittany finally did, and zoomed off the main track and up to them. She leant the bike on its kickstand and dismounted, pulling her helmet off with verve and shaking out her damp hair. Santana was mesmerized.

Brittany looked from Artie to Santana and back to Artie with a raised eyebrow. Artie simply shrugged. Brittany shrugged back and leant forward to give the boy a kiss on the cheek. "Hi babe," she said sweetly. She glanced at Santana and said with decidedly less enthusiasm, "Santana."

Then she stood fully upright and asked, "What are you guys doing here?"

Artie jumped onto the question first. "I got you something," he exclaimed. He reached behind him and grabbed his backpack, which was hanging from one of the handles of his chair. He pulled it to his lap and retrieved the helmet he had bought for Brittany. He held it up to her reverently and asked, "What do you think?"

"Wow," said Brittany enthusiastically, taking the helmet from Artie's outstretched hands. "This is great, Artie! Thanks!"

Brittany leaned down to give Artie another kiss, this time on the lips. "You're welcome," he replied afterward, blushing.

Santana was about to hurl. Her eyes hurt from being rolled so much in such a short period of time. "Alright, yes," she finally had to interject, "it's the best helmet that ever existed. Can we move on?"

Brittany straightened, her eyes flashing. "Move on to what, Santana? Why are you even here?"

"Why am I here? Why wouldn't I be here? If I had known about this, I would have come before. Why didn't you tell me? How long have you been doing this?"

"I've been riding since spring. It's not like I've been hiding it."

"Then why didn't I know about it?"

For a long moment, Brittany didn't answer. She opened her mouth once to say something that she'd long wanted to say, but then snapped it shut. She hated meanness. It was her least favorite thing in the world. She remembered Artie's question when she had told him that: "If you have meanness, why are you friends with the meanest girl in school?" She locked eyes with Artie, who gently nodded for her to go on.

She took a deep breath and answered Santana's question, "Because you're a selfish bitch who doesn't care about anything not directly related to you? Maybe that's it? Maybe if you asked me a question once in awhile you would have known about my other hobbies. Maybe if you hadn't been so obsessed with maintaining your status that you ignored me all summer you'd know that I spent most of it riding. Maybe if you treated me as more than just another warm body you'd know that I'm also an _aluno_ in capoeira. I can also surf, just so you know!"

Santana was flabbergasted. She had no idea there was so much about Brittany that she didn't know. She could not believe Brittany had so much anger towards her built up. She could not believe…that Brittany could handle so many hobbies. Even considering that Brittany almost never did school work, how did…

"How do you do all of that?"

"What?"

"How do you have the time to do all of that? You're the best Cheerio on the team…I thought you spent all your time practicing. When do you practice?"

"Um…at practice? That's what they're for, right?"

"But when else? Practice is just to introduce the routines, get us started on conditioning…and maybe for Sue to get personal satisfaction from torturing us. Everybody has to practice outside of practice…right?"

"Oh my God, that is not the point! Is that literally all you can think about, is your position on the squad? I practice at practice! And since that's all you care about, I'm gonna go." She shook her head in disgust, and turned her attention to Artie. Immediately her face softened, and she cooed, "Thanks for the present, babe." Then she glanced at Santana and scowled, "You were right about her."

She shoved her helmet on her head and re-mounted her bike. She zoomed off without another look back, leaving an angry Santana Lopez with a nervous Artie Abrams. They stood in awkward, angry silence for almost a minute. Artie finally broke it.

"You're not going to drive me home, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Then Santana threw her hands up in the air in frustration and stomped across the field to her car. She swung open the car door and slammed it shut with all her might, then peeled out of the field.

The End

A/N: Don't fear, my lovely readers and fellow Brittana shippers, I have not gone to the Dark Side. I do not see anything good in Barfie (except for the possibility of character growth in Brittany). But, I figure if the writers aren't going to use that relationship as it so obviously should be used (making Santana jealous, making Santana realize how much she's missing, making Santana realize how badly she'd been treating Brittany, etc) then I will! This is the end, for now. I just wanted to do a short, angsty one-shot about Brittany finally getting angry/venting, and Santana being confronted with the consequences of the way she is. Nothing is resolved, of course, and no one has learned any lessons yet, which does leave this open for continuation. I'll just have to see how I'm feeling during the break.


End file.
